


Pay the Penance

by SimiXiamara1



Category: Vampire Chronicles - Anne Rice
Genre: M/M, Other, Punishment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-02
Updated: 2020-06-02
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:29:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24511576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SimiXiamara1/pseuds/SimiXiamara1
Summary: Armand is young and there are still some things that he needs to work on as the new Coven Master for the Parisian Children of Darkness...
Relationships: Armand/Marius de Romanus, Armand/Mortal
Comments: 2
Kudos: 19





	Pay the Penance

Red. There was always so much red. Every day - it colored his dreams. So much red. Today was no different. He woke with red in his eyes. 

Stubbornly, he wiped at the blood tears pooling in his eyes, collecting on his lashes. Now was not the time. He rose, moving out of his small chamber where he slept. Most of the coven still lay in their rest, he rose before all but the eldest. Brushing past Allesandra with barely a glance, he exited the catacombs, taking the path to the surface and out into the night. He breathed deeply, the death and decay from down below had filled his senses until he was nearly drowning. Paris. He hadn't been here long, only a few months, and was still getting use to everything.

He walked through the cemetery like a ghost, a ghost clad in black, his pale skin nearly glowing beneath the full moon. And still, all he could see was tinted red. The human that bowed over a grave, ignoring the suggestion that the graveyard not be visited after dark. How rebellious, and yet it would be this human's downfall. Armand approached quietly. He reached out, grabbing the shoulder of the mortal.

The human gasped in surprise, turning rapidly to face Armand, and Armand froze as the crystal blue gaze met his own. A pale, regal form framed by long golden hair. For a moment, he could almost pretend that this creature, who wore a red cloak, of all things, could possibly be - no. It wasn't. He knew it. And yet, it was so vivid in his mind. He gripped the young man by the jaw, suddenly angry. How dare he so resemble the dead immortal whose ashes likely lay at the bottom of the ocean, blown into a nearby canal and carried away. It was how Amadeo liked to think of Marius's remains, not trapped beneath the burned out rubble of his glorious palazzo.

But Free.

In the ocean.

But this human... this creature who had the audacity to be fair of feature. He would pay for the heartache that Armand had woke with that night. He hauled the gagging mortal who could not even take a breath for Armand's grip was so tight. He pressed him to the back of a mausoleum, fingers slowly sliding down the mortal's chest as he held him with the other hand, feeling the warmth, the heartbeat. He should remove the robe. It was too beautiful to be stained. Too beautiful. Marius would have loved it - No. No. The pain was coming back. He had to stop thinking.

Don't think.

Don't remember.

His hands ripped the red cloak from the human, tossing it behind him, where it would be safe. His force ripped at the shirt the human wore and he leaned in, ripping at the throat, blood flowing over himself, and the human. It was violent, and it was bliss. Armand moaned, body pressed hard against the human's who was crying out as well, but Armand barely heard him, lost to the blood lust, the pleasure. He moaned, drinking deeply, pulling on the stuttering heart. It brought his cold body back to life, and he felt every part of him come awake again as he was taken in by the warmth.

All too soon, the pleasure was ending, and Armand let the body drop to the ground. He stared down at the body. The more he looked, the less like Marius he appeared. His hair was not nearly as brilliantly blond, but more of a dirty-blond. Eyes were darker, cheekbones no where near as sharp. But he was dead now. Armand turned and looked, picking up the cloak that he had ripped from the human. Red. So red. He held it to himself, and though it smelled of the human - his mind had him see only Marius. Marius. Master. Padrone. 

He knelt down, rubbing the velvet against his face, imagining being in His arms again. The sensual touch, he smiled gently. "Maestro," he whispered softly.

_"Amadeo - what have you done?"_

_"He deserved it..."_

_"What was his crime?"_

_"He looked like you."_

_"Amadeo - that is not a crime."_

_"Yes - yes it is." His voice hitched violently. "I miss you, Padrone... I'm so alone..."_

_"Oh my child..." A hand lightly brushed over Armand's hair. "You are not alone. I am here. I am with you. Always." A brush of lips against his forehead, it was cold, as cold as the hand that now touched his cheek, that gripped his jaw._

_"Maestro..."_

_"Shh, Amadeo..." The hand slid lower, lower and pressed against the front of the black robes that he wore, reawakening his cock - and a soft tutting noise came from his Maestro's lips. "Still so hungry for my touch. I am glad to see that part of you has not been corrupted..." The hand wrapped around him, stroking the flesh, and Armand groaned, gasping at the touch, bucking up into the touch, and he shuddered. He felt lips against his throat, felt the pierce of fangs, blood rolling down over his neck and disappearing into the filthy robes he wore._

_The pleasure built... higher and higher, until Armand was on cloud nine. His Master's hand working him as well as it had ever worked with a paintbrush. And he would paint this mausoleum red._

_Red - and red - and red._

_His vision was red again._

S _tars and pleasure, and cries._

_"There's my boy."_

Armand finally opened his eyes once more, still clutching tightly to the red velvet, one hand gripped his own throat, nails biting into his neck and drawing blood. He looked down slowly, his own hand holding his softening cock, fingers coated in the red-tinted cum that had exploded from him. He closed his eyes again. "Maestro," he whispered again, wishing he could conjure the image again and again. But it was gone. 

He tucked himself away and rose to his feet, tossing the soiled robe over onto the form of the dead human beside of him and walked from the mausoleum. He didn't get very far, however, before he ran into... her. 

"Allesandra."

"You have violated Coven Conduct."

He didn't even try to deny it. 

"Yes."

"Oh, Armand. You are supposed to be the best of us. Come. I will administer penance." She gripped the back of his neck, leading him back to the Catacombs. To his private chamber. He was stripped bare before her, kneeling on a bed of human skulls before an inverted cross and beeswax candles. "Beg for repentance..." And then it came. The lash. The whip. Tipped with metal blades, it ripped into young preternatural flesh. But Armand did not scream.

He flinched with each strike. He lost count. How many now? How many more? 

Blood ran down his form slowly, he bent over, hands on the floor, curling in pain, blood dripping down to the floor. Tears on his face as his eyes came closed. Lash after lash. Strike after strike. 

Red. The color red was everywhere.

One word on his tongue, swallowed down. One word. His salvation.

_Maestro..._


End file.
